The Raveled Sleeve of Care
by Mojave Dragonfly
Summary: El has been rescued, but the events of season 3 have taken a toll on Neal.  Kind of fluffy; not as H/C as that summary makes it sound.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with the creation of USA's White Collar

A/N: This was a response to a prompt to see Neal exhausted by the aftermath of Elizabeth's kidnapping. Obviously, I don't know what the show will do with that storyline, so what exactly happened to her and how she was rescued are deliberately vague here.

Thank you, canon_is_relative, for beta and Kriadydragon for the prompt.

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><p>Neal raced into the underground parking lot and stopped short as he saw Elizabeth in Peter's arms. The relief settled in his knees; he slumped abruptly against an SUV, his gaze darting between the agents hauling Keller away and Peter and El. Few of the excited, milling agents noticed him at first, but Diana trotted over to him, a tight smile on her lips. "You okay?" she asked. She held out a hand but Neal waved it away with a weak nod to keep her from worrying about him.<p>

_El was safe. El was safe._ Neal had saved her. Okay, he and half the FBI agents of the New York office, but the plan was his, the con was his, and most of all, the spectacular bluff that saved them all when the plan collapsed was his. But it could have gone so badly. Neal hugged himself as the shakes spread out from his stomach.

Diana joined the backslapping crowd of agents. Neal would have to get to his feet soon; people were starting to look around for him. Not Peter, though. Peter only had eyes for Elizabeth and whomever he needed to order around to get her out of there. Neal felt almost resentful that he wasn't included in Peter's concern—what he had just pulled off was dangerous, and without comm the team wouldn't have known he was all right until he appeared moments ago—but he talked himself out of it with some shame. He was fine, if deeply exhausted, and Peter knew Diana and the others would account for him as the operation disbanded. El was safe. The world was right again.

Except it wasn't. Neal had tried everything he knew to reach Moz,but he hadn't found him, and, though his messages might get through eventually, there hadn't been time to wait. Meanwhile, Peter thought Neal had the art and wouldn't give it up to save Elizabeth. As if. There was no repairing that kind of betrayal in Peter's eyes, and to clear Neal of that accusation would take incriminating Mozzie. It hurt. Neal hurt, and he was so tired of it all.

He made it to Diana's car, forcing a smile and acknowledging those agents who spotted him, but he felt like he was walking through a tar pit. His head throbbed, and he couldn't fake his usual level of cockiness. Neal had thought he liked to play for high stakes, but now he realized every time he'd risked something that made other people gasp, it had been because he either knew for certain he would win, or he hadn't cared about losing. This time he cared. A lot. And he hadn't been certain he could win. He really, really disliked the feeling.

But El was safe.

He sat in the passenger seat of the car, waiting, feeling none of his usual energy and delight at a successful operation. He hadn't slept well in days, and the headache would not let up. He leaned his head against the window and hoped no one would notice his eyes were closed.

He struggled to keep up with the conversation as they drove—Jones and Blake in the back seat, all of them rehashing the more frightening moments of the operation. Neal managed a glimmer of satisfaction that they couldn't discuss the rescue without acknowledging his own pivotal role. He hoped his failure to be smug would be seen as modesty; he just wanted to know Elizabeth was all right and then have the day be over. Belatedly, he realized they weren't driving to the office. They were going to the urgent care where Peter had taken El.

They found Peter with Hughes and two section chiefs filling a waiting room with their authority and anxiety. Elizabeth wasn't there. The arrival of Peter's team followed closely by other agents from the operation stuffed the room to bursting. There weren't enough chairs.

"They're checking her out," Peter repeated as people arrived. "She seems okay." He spoke to Diana and to Jones, his gaze lingering on Neal as he reported for only a moment before taking in the rest of the agents. He added something to Hughes.

"All right, everyone," Hughes said. "Let's clear out. If you have a report to make, back to the office. If not, you can knock off for the day early. Good job, everyone. I'm sure Mrs. Burke appreciates everyone's concern, but we'll keep you informed without crowding her." As the agents began to drift toward the door, he added, "Caffrey."

"Present," said Neal.

Hughes looked him up and down for a moment, and frowned. "We'll get a report from you tomorrow. Go on home."

This wasn't what Neal had been expecting, and he suspected it wasn't what Hughes had originally intended to say. While he wanted to crawl into bed more than almost anything, Neal couldn't rest until he knew how badly Keller had treated Elizabeth. It was a difficult thing to ask, and Neal looked imploringly to Peter.

Peter, however, was content to let Hughes give orders. His eyes were on the door someone had taken El through. There was no denying that whatever recovery Elizabeth would need, Peter's attention belonged entirely with her. Neal felt like a kid looking in the window of the closed candy shop.

"Right," he said, and forced his legs to carry him out of the waiting room. Diana waited for him beyond the doors.

"Need a ride?" she asked.

"No, thanks," he answered. "I'll walk."

"You've got to be kidding me," said Diana with a skeptical look. "You look beat. Are you all right?"

"A walk is what I need," Neal lied. He hated showing weakness to the feds; even the ones he considered friends. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Diana left him with a shrug and a hint of suspicion. Of course, suspicion. Neal suppressed a sigh and went in search of a cup of coffee. It was pathetic for the kid to camp out on the candy shop's door, but that's what he was going to do.


	2. Chapter 2

The urgent care staff put El on a converted examining bed in a tiny temporary room that barely fit both Peter and Hughes, standing, as there wasn't room for a chair. Though Reece was determined not to leave Peter alone, he had to spend a good deal of time out in the hospital atrium on his phone. El was breathing pure oxygen for anxiety. Peter held her hand and watched the sedative slowly take hold. Alone with her while she dozed, Peter took ten quiet minutes to feel how lucky and grateful he was and how much he loved her. Then he went to walk off some of his nervous energy. From the little coffee counter in the large hall, he glanced toward the metal tables outside on a cobblestone patio. Beyond them, around the bend of a garden walkway, he spotted a familiar form. It could only be Neal, but he wasn't sitting like Neal. He slumped on a bench, bent forward, forearms resting on his thighs, staring at the hat in his hands. The hat clinched it. It was definitely Neal.

Peter watched him through the shrubbery, considering how he felt about his CI. He quickly grew impatient with his own thoughts and decided he'd sort them out on the fly. He strode out the door and along the little path.

Neal looked up at his approach and a faint echo of his usual animation crossed his face. "Peter," he said, his gaze flicking to the building behind him. Peter read his question. "El is napping," he told him. Neal nodded, a minimal movement. Peter was startled to notice how pale Neal was. He looked gaunt, exhausted, like he had during the days after Kate's death. Peter sat beside him. Neal sat up, his expression apprehensive.

"You did good," Peter told him. "It was a good plan."

Neal quirked one side of his mouth and looked back at his hat. "It was a desperate plan. One with a serious weakness there at the end."

"Which you bluffed your way through. Brilliantly." Peter tried not to sound grudging.

Neal looked up at him, startled.

"You wouldn't have proposed the idea if you didn't know you could pull it off when it went sour." Peter looked Neal in the eye. "You saved Elizabeth. Whatever else you've done, I won't forget that."

"Peter—" Neal sounded uncertain. He rubbed his face, the skin puffy. "Peter, listen." He sounded like he was in pain. "Listen, I—" He bit his lip and started again.

Peter held his peace. He felt sick, not sure he could listen to Neal protest again that he didn't have the stolen Nazi art, but he resolved to be patient. He owed Neal that much.

"Some things happened, Peter. Things I didn't cause. I didn't choose. But these things, they forced me to make a choice. I chose to stay when I could have run. I don't know if you believe me, but I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay and keep doing this. Helping you." Some color tinted Neal's face now, from passion or embarrassment. His dark-rimmed eyes were bloodshot.

So that's how it was. Peter read between Neal's lines easily, and guessed it was the closest to a confession he was going to get, and he'd only got that much because Neal was too tired to have his guard up. He leaned back on the bench and took a deep breath, then let it out, looking around at the spindly garden terrace.

He nodded, to let Neal know he'd heard him. "I have to get back to El. They're going to send her home as soon as some tests come back. She says she wants you to come by tonight."

"You want me to come over?" Neal inquired, surprised.

"I want what she wants. She'll see our PTSD counselor tomorrow, but I know what he'll tell her: not to expect to go right back to situation normal, don't worry if there are bad days, and don't be afraid to ask for what you need emotionally, even if it seems strange. So, she wants you to come over tonight? You come over. Let's say it's for dinner, though I don't know how she's going to feel about a normal dinner routine."

"Okay." Neal nodded and got to his feet without his usual grace. "What time?"

"I'll text you. You going somewhere?" Peter had expected Neal to want to see Elizabeth.

"I have to get a hostess gift."

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><p>Peter kept El beside him as they picked up Chinese on the way home. El assured him she was all right, but she was subdued. She went straight to the shower and spent a long time under the water and then working on her appearance-hair, makeup, nails and whatever other mysterious rituals she used to armor herself. Peter tried not to hover. He decided he needed to fortify their house.<p>

He called every home security company he could get to answer the phone and offered exorbitant amounts of money if they would upgrade their home security system to top-of-the-line that night, but not a single company could respond that quickly, no matter what he offered.

El emerged, clean and coiffed, but she chose comfortable clothes despite the determined grooming. She didn't try to talk him out of the high cost security upgrades he was seeking, either. She used her cell to call Yvonne and apologized for being a no-show at an event the day before, but she didn't give any reason for her absence and asked Yvonne to continue to cover for her, still with no explanation.

Peter hung the phone up in frustration, again, and El called to him from where she sat at their dining room table. "Honey," she said, "it will wait until tomorrow. Come here and hold my hand."

So Peter made himself relax. He sat at the table and held her hand. "I can try places out of the city," he said.

She shook her head and smiled at him. "It's all right." Peter reached a long arm over and hugged her to him. She scooted her chair to make it less awkward. After a while, she said, "We should set the table. Neal will be here soon."

Neal arrived with a beautiful, artistic bouquet of flowers and a teddy bear.

"They're lovely," she said, accepting the flowers as Neal stepped inside. Her slight change in tone at the end of the statement turned the platitude into startled admiration. She handed them off to Peter, though, so she could reach for the bear. It was child sized, with fuzzy gold fur, and wore a bluish-black flak vest with "FBI" emblazoned across it. A brown gun holster was slung under one ursine arm and the opposite wrist bore a replica of Peter's own watch, the one El had given him back. "Oh, Neal," El exclaimed. "See this, honey? It's your watch."

Peter leaned over to peer at the watch, wondering if his drugstore Timex was worth forging. But the bear's watch was no forgery; it was undersized and plastic, but had been painstakingly painted to imitate Peter's. The detail was nothing short of stunning. "Where did you get this?" Peter asked, not disguising how impressed he was.

Neal smiled, his face still wan. "The bear came from the florist," he said. "I made the rest."

"It's—amazing," El said, turning the bear in her hands. "But there's no gun."

Neal shrugged. "I don't like guns," he said off-handedly, but then grew more earnest. "This bear," he told her, "protects you with all the resources of the FBI and the entire Department of Justice. He's smarter than the average bear, and he has even smarter friends."

Peter snorted, but El planted a kiss on the bear's head. "I love it," she said.

Neal smiled like his work had all been worth it. And incredible work it was, too. Peter didn't need to consult his own, real watch in order to know how few hours Neal had had to create this little bundle of emotional security. Peter met Neal's still bloodshot eyes, and gave a little shake of his head, part "show-off" and part "thank you."

Then Peter was dispatched to find a vase for the flowers while El placed the bear on the sideboard where she could see it from her chair. She returned to the living room and Neal stood in front of her. "What can I do?" he asked her, soberly.

El didn't pretend to misunderstand him. She lifted her chin. "I want us to have dinner and then we're all going to sit on that couch and watch the game. I want one of you on either side of me for the rest of the evening. And the bear," she added.

Neal lifted his eyebrows, but readily agreed, so they sat down to a meal of warmed Chinese take-out.


	3. Chapter 3

Neal had little appetite, and he noticed Elizabeth didn't eat much, either. The meal would have been a waste of food and effort if Peter hadn't done it some justice with multiple helpings of mu shu pork. Neal tried, but couldn't manage much small talk. No one did. The thing on everyone's mind was the events of the last few days, but no one brought it up until Elizabeth did.

"Neal, tell me how you knew Keller," she asked. "Peter said something about Monaco?" Neal told her about meeting Keller when they were both scamming the World Backgammon Finals. El listened while stirring her chopsticks in the rice. "Somehow backgammon doesn't sound very-sinister," she said. Peter remained impassive; he'd heard this before.

Suddenly it was very important to Neal that Elizabeth understand he and Keller had never been the same. He wasn't sure it was a good idea to tell the story of Keller shooting their partner for forgetting his passport, either for his own implied involvement or for El's peace of mind, but he was too weary to examine all the possible consequences and forged ahead, one eye on Peter. "So, this, ah, friend of mine never wanted anything to do with Keller after that," he finished.

"But he was still interested in you," El said.

So much for not incriminating himself. "Keller sees me as a rival," Neal told her, neither confirming nor denying her assumption.

Elizabeth nodded and put a bit of white rice in her mouth.

"Elizabeth, there is nothing I wouldn't have done, and nothing I wouldn't have given up to get you away from him." Neal put down his chopsticks and leaned closer to her. "I hope you can believe that," he said, despite the voice in his head screaming that this wasn't fair to her.

Elizabeth studied her food for a moment, then put her hand over Neal's. Peter shifted in his chair, but Neal didn't look away from Elizabeth's face. She gave him a kind look. "Neal, you know I can't say I believe you without being disloyal to Peter." She squeezed his hand as Neal took a breath to protest. "I do believe that you're sincere," she said as Neal pulled away from her and leaned back in his chair. "That's all I can give you. And I thank you so very much for what you did today."

Neal sat still, absorbing the disappointment. He finally looked at Peter, and was surprised to see softening there, and a flash of sympathy. Maybe Peter understood and believed his roundabout confession from earlier that day. "Kickoff is in three minutes," Peter said, not gruffly at all.

That announcement signaled a flurry of clearing the dishes, at least on the part of the Burkes. Neal was still too crushed to rally, so his plate and drink were whisked away from in front of him. Shaming his manners as a guest, he stood by and let his hosts do the cleanup and prepare the living room for The Game. Satchmo appeared from beneath the table and followed El into the kitchen in search of food scraps.

The TV on and Hank Williams Jr. singing "Are you ready for some football?", Peter sat on the end of the couch nearest the door and Elizabeth kicked off her shoes and cuddled into his side, clutching the teddy bear. Satchmo, who wasn't allowed on the couch, plonked down at their feet, everyone clearly at their family stations.

Neal couldn't make himself move. He replayed what El had said, sifting through it for any comfort. He decided El was saying she would believe him if it weren't for Peter's distrust. She would believe him if she could. He clung to that.

She patted the couch beside her, and Neal obeyed. He sat, doomed for Elizabeth's sake to watch a football game.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, he was bored within minutes. Unless he could use them in a con, Neal paid little attention to sports, and football was at the bottom of the list of things he might be interested in. A game of brute force where the winner one week was the loser the next. While he could understand why someone would play a sport—the thrill of competition, the fun of outwitting an opponent—he had no idea what fans got out of it. He was asleep before the end of the first quarter.

He dreamed that Kate's death had been an elaborate trick, a con Adler had pulled on him. He'd had similar dreams before, but this time, at the end, Kate came to him and accused him. "If you'd really wanted to save me, you'd have given up everything."

"I couldn't," dream-Neal protested. "I didn't have anything."

He half-woke then, but caution made him continue to behave as though he slept. He was leaning against Elizabeth, who, domino-like, leaned on Peter. In the background he heard the excited drone of the football announcers, but in the foreground, the Burkes were talking about him.

"… look innocent?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah," Peter said, no sarcasm in his tone. "I've never seen him sleep."

"Makes him look less superhuman?"

"Oh, I've always known he was human."

Elizabeth shifted minutely. "I hurt his feelings."

"He'll live."

"Did he really refuse to pay my ransom?"

"If he had it, he would have paid it. It just might have been as a last resort."

"If he had it? I thought you were sure."

"Not anymore. I think Mozzie has it and skipped town. Neal as much as told me so earlier today."

"Oh, Mozzie."

"I know Neal tried to reach him. No one worked harder than Neal to get you back, El, and that's the truth. I honestly can't think of anyone I'd rather have on my team, despite everything."

"What if Neal had run, too?"

"Then we wouldn't have had anything to use against Keller."

"Thank heavens he stayed."

"Yeah. He probably could have run. Is he awake?"

"No, honey. He's sleeping on me; I could tell."

"Okay. Well, tell me something. Why did you want him here tonight?"

"I just—want to feel safe in my home. And Neal—if he's here, he's not getting into trouble."

"You wanted him here so we could keep an eye on him?"

"So we wouldn't worry about him, yes."

"I never thought of that as a kind of security." Peter's arm around Elizabeth stretched out and Neal felt Peter fasten onto the back of his collar. "You know, you're right. This feels much better."

El snickered.

Neal had the perfect excuse to pretend to wake up right then, but the game was only at half-time. He let himself fall back asleep with Peter's hand on his collar.

-finis

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><p><em>"Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care" – Wm Shakespeare<em>


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